


In Tevinter

by Raufnir



Series: Dorian x Lavellan various [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (brief) - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, I couldn't get the image of Lavellan in Dorian's silk robe out of my head, M/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Reunion, Smut, ciuin is a big softie underneath his scowl, dorian being affectionate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 05:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raufnir/pseuds/Raufnir
Summary: Ciúin Lavellan decides he cannot endure 'long distance' any more and informs Dorian that he will no longer be using the sending crystal. Dorian barely has time to react before the door to his study opens and he can't decide if he's in the Fade or reality... sexy times and fluff ensue.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Series: Dorian x Lavellan various [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547659
Comments: 4
Kudos: 128





	In Tevinter

**Author's Note:**

> This one is unrelated to my previous exploration of Ciúin and Dorian's reunion in Tevinter (which you can read in this series), and I think this is probably the 'canon' one for their timeline, fun though the other option was to explore :).  
Hope you enjoy!

The crystal on Dorian’s dressing table glowed and filled the room with a tingling magic and he smiled. He picked it up and heard the strange, echoing voice of his amatus on the other end. It was marginally clearer than it usually was. “Dorian,” he said. 

“Amatus,” Dorian exhaled. “I missed you. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to reach you. I… I’d begun to worry a bit…” 

“I… I was indisposed,” came the response. 

“What do you mean? Are you hurt?” he asked, clenching the crystal tightly in his fingers as though that would bring his amatus to him. Worry, thick and acrid, billowed up his throat. 

“No,” Ciúin said. “I’m not hurt. But listen, I’ve been thinking…” 

“Oh no,” Dorian said lightly. “That doesn’t sound good.” 

“This whole distance thing…” Ciúin went on, and Dorian’s heart iced over suddenly. 

“Wait…” he said, but Ciúin interrupted him. 

“I can’t do it anymore, Dorian. Being apart from you, waiting for you… I’ve waited for two years and I can’t do it any more. I also won’t be using the crystal any more.” 

Horror gripped Dorian by the throat and tears sprang instantly to his eyes. “Amatus, wait,” he said. “Wait, don’t… Don’t do anything rash… Amatus? Ciúin?” he said, but the crystal went dead in his hands. 

With a cry, Dorian’s knees unexpectedly folded and he crumpled to the floor. Pain such as he’d never known lanced through his chest and he couldn’t breathe. 

Footsteps sounded in the hall outside, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. The door opened, and someone paused on the threshold. 

Dorian did look around then, more out of reflex than curiosity, but when he saw who was standing there, he felt his world slip sideways, and for a horrible moment he thought he must be in the Fade. This couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be here… could he? 

“Well,” Ciúin said from the doorway, staring at Dorian’s ashen cheeks, his glassy eyes, the horrified expression around his mouth evaporating in the face of his utter shock. He also saw that Dorian’s hair was longer now, falling about his face to his shoulders, though still shaved close on one side. There was a little streak of silver in it too, he saw with consternation. Dorian was only in his mid thirties. He shouldn’t be going grey yet. Was the stress of reforming Tevinter taking its toll on his vhen’an already? 

“Ciúin?” Dorian gasped, struggling to stand from where he’d apparently dropped to his knees. A silk dressing gown, glimmering in black and gold, pooled around him and he almost tripped over it in his haste to rise. The crystal fell from his fingers, landing lightly on the elaborate silk rug at his feet, which were bare, Ciúin realised. “You’re here? You bloody bastard… I thought… I…” Tears ran down his cheeks and the magister strode over to the elf and grabbed his collar in both hands. “I thought…” he said, still unable to articulate himself through his grief. 

“I’m sorry,” Ciúin said. “I didn’t think it’d upset you quite this much. It was a poor joke.” 

Dorian growled at him, shoving him roughly back against the wall with the force of a charging bronto. As the wind was knocked from his lungs, Ciúin blinked. He’d never seen Dorian quite so emotional. 

“Vhen’an,” he breathed. “Truly, I’m sorry. I would never hurt you like that. I just… Ah, I don’t know, I just wanted to play a little joke on you. I didn’t realise it’d hurt you so much so quickly.” He shifted his right palm to Dorian’s hip and added, “I thought you’d still be standing there spouting curses or in shock; I didn’t want to upset you truly.” 

Dorian’s hurt and shock drained from him in a single exhalation. He laid his forehead on Ciúin’s chest, right over his pounding heart, and let out a dry chuckle, heavy with emotion. “All this time, amatus, the only thing that’s kept me sane is you. You make me believe I can do this. For an awful moment I thought I’d have to do this alone, and… after the day I’ve had today, I’m not sure I could do that. Or… quite frankly, who I’d be anymore without you.” 

Ciúin brought his right hand to Dorian’s face and turned it up to look at him. “Ir abelas, ma’nehn,” he said softly. “My beautiful, savage, fearsome magister,” he added with a smile. “Woe betide anyone who crosses you…” 

Dorian shook his head and released Ciúin’s collar. In a flash, one hand was around the back of Ciúin’s head, and he was pulling him into a kiss that left the elf almost as winded as being thrown against the chamber wall. 

Dorian poured everything he had into that kiss, and Ciúin could barely keep up. His right hand snagged the silken robe from Dorian’s beautiful, strong shoulders, and it fell to the floor with barely a whisper as it slid over his deep, bronzed skin, bearing the mage’s chest. “Fenedhis,” the elf hissed between kisses, “I’ve missed you.” 

Ciúin felt his blood beginning to pool between his legs and he rolled his hips against Dorian’s thigh, showing him how far along he was already. The mage responded with a deep groan and dragged Ciúin towards the door in the corner of the room. 

Ciúin allowed himself to be led inside the next chamber, and he saw instantly that it was Dorian’s bedroom. Dorian’s hands were shaking slightly as he undid the horn toggles on Ciúin’s jerkin. He slipped it off his shoulders and flung it unceremoniously onto an armchair in the corner of the room. 

It was a familiar looking chair - soft, squashy, with faded red upholstery - and Ciúin stared at it, distracted. “Is… Is that…?” 

“The chair from the library in Skyhold? Definitely not,” Dorian said with a grin. “Now come back here…” 

“You sentimental old thing,” Ciúin smirked, chasing after another kiss. 

Ciúin no longer wore bandages over the stump of his left arm, but it was sensitive beneath the soft, silken ‘sock’ he wore to protect it when he wasn’t wearing Dagna’s prosthetic, and he gasped as Dorian’s curious fingers found it. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, pulling back. 

“No,” Ciúin said, smiling reassuringly. “It’s just… sensitive.” 

“Oh,” Dorian said, pulling him down on to the bed. His mind was clearly focused on other areas as he asked, “You want to top or bottom?” 

“I don’t care,” Ciúin said, dizzy and breathless. “I just want you.” 

It was then that he especially missed having two hands, but he brought his right hand down between their bodies and wrapped it around Dorian’s hard cock, giving a couple of strokes that left Dorian gasping. 

“Kaffas,” the mage swore, shuddering visibly. “But I’ve missed your touch, amatus.” 

Ciúin took both of them together in that hand, and Dorian lost himself in thrusting into the slickening circle of Ciúin’s fingers. 

“Ma’vhen’an,” Ciúin gasped after a while, loosening his grip on them both. “I’m… I’m close, stop. Stop…” 

Breathing hard, Dorian strained to hold himself back but he reached for the bedside table, from where he drew out a phial of oil. Kneeling over Ciúin, he poured a generous amount into his hand and rubbed his palms together to warm the oil. He coated Ciúin’s eager, weeping cock with it, making the elf cry out and buck his hips upwards into the touch, seeking more, and then he began to toy with his tight entrance. 

“Relax, amatus,” he said as he carefully slipped his finger inside him and felt how tight he was. He paused a moment, letting Ciúin get re-acquainted with the intrusion. “Breathe.” He frowned a little. When they’d been together at Skyhold, Ciúin had become quite adept at taking him, and even at their reunion at the Exalted Council they had spent what precious time they’d had in stolen moments together, but now he was tighter than a virgin being deflowered. “You haven’t even practised at all, have you?” Dorian asked, not unkindly. 

Ciúin winced and shook his head. 

“Are you sure you want this then?” Dorian asked. 

The elf nodded vehemently, green eyes rolling shut and his hand clawing at the sheets beneath him, his slim, hard, muscular body writhing and twisting. “I only like it, ah, when you… when…” Dorian slipped another finger inside him, feeling the stretch, and then he took Ciúin’s cock in his other hand, working him slowly with expert touches. 

“When I what?” 

“That!” Ciúin all but screamed as Dorian crooked his fingers just so and a jolt ran through the elf. 

Chuckling, Dorian continued to prepare him, taking his time to unravel his beloved elf, and only when he was begging and whimpering did Dorian replace his fingers with his cock. The feeling as he seated himself inside his lover was almost overwhelming. “Oh, amatus,” he said, bowing his head for a moment, balls tightening, pulse pounding. 

When he began to move again, Ciúin started to groan and whine, though Dorian could see he was in no pain. Stretched, yes, but not in pain. His lips fell open and strings of incoherent, slurred elvish fell out of him as Dorian’s hips rolled back and forth, and then, as Dorian approached his own peak not too long later, he felt Ciúin coiling up for release as well. 

He reached and took hold of Ciúin’s achingly hard cock once again where it bounced with each thrust of his hips against the elf’s stomach, smearing pre come against his warm, brown skin. Dorian gripped Ciúin’s cock firmly as he sped up his rhythm, hitting Ciúin deep, and as the usually quiet elf began to moan and cry out louder and louder, his solid, slim thighs shaking with desperate desire, Dorian gave more thrust and suddenly emptied himself inside Ciúin. 

“Ciúin,” he gasped as it took him by surprise. The force of Dorian coming inside him sent Ciúin tumbling over the edge as well, and he clenched hard around Dorian, which drew out his orgasm until Dorian could barely breathe. 

Ciúin came hard too, his release spilling over Dorian’s hand and his own chest, his torso curling in on itself under the force of his orgasm, and Dorian managed to crack an eye open to watch him. 

“You’re so beautiful, amatus,” he crooned. “Kaffas, but you’re so beautiful.” 

He stayed a little longer inside Ciúin, but soon enough he felt himself beginning to soften, and a wave of goosebumps shivered up his back, so he withdrew and received a groan of complaint from Ciúin. The elf lay, limp and utterly spent across the rumpled bed, his long, black braid in disarray from their activities, and his right arm flung up over his head. His left arm, or what remained of it, ended in a scarred, gnarled stump, just below his elbow, a slight tinge of green to the mass of white scars that threaded up his arm towards his shoulder. 

Dorian stroked Ciúin’s sharp hipbone once with his thumb and then headed to the adjacent bathroom to clean up. When he returned, Ciúin was deeply asleep, and didn’t stir even when Dorian dabbed his torso and groin clean before covering him with his fine sheets. “Sleep, amatus,” he said, dressing quietly and leaving a final kiss on Ciúin’s forehead. “You’ve had a long journey.” 

Unwilling to return to his work, he headed to the study and found four messages from Maevaris sitting there atop his research notes. Owain must have dropped them off while Dorian was occupied next door, but somehow he couldn’t find a shred of embarrassment that his elderly servant - who had known Dorian since childhood - might have overheard his activities. 

A couple of hours later, the door from his bedroom opened quietly and Ciúin entered his study without knocking. Dorian glanced up from the notes he was making in response to Maevaris’ latest proposal, and the breath left his lungs in a rush. Ciúin was simply leaning against the door frame watching him with a remarkably soft expression on his usually stern face. His long hair was wet, tied back in a loose, dripping plait, and he was wearing the black and gold silk bathrobe that Dorian had been wearing earlier. It was too big for him, which made Dorian’s gut twist pleasantly, and the cord was wrapped around his narrow waist almost twice. He looked relaxed and beautiful in a way Dorian could hardly ever remember seeing him. 

But a flare of worry made itself known in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Ciúin’s long ears. Tevinter was not a safe place for one with ears like that. 

“You’ll get lines if you scowl like that,” Ciúin commented, padding barefoot over to him and leaning his slight weight against his desk. The left sleeve of the gown hung empty, but he’d tucked it into the belt before securing it so that at least it didn’t flap when he moved. He regarded Dorian with growing anxiety in his dark green eyes. “Ma’nehn?” he breathed, turning and reaching for his chin with his right hand. “You look so tired.” 

“It’s… been a tough couple of weeks,” Dorian admitted, rubbing a hand over his stormy eyes. “We’ve an important vote coming up in the Upper House.” He paused, setting down his fountain pen and taking Ciúin’s one remaining hand in both of his. Ciúin’s skin was somehow smooth and supple as a young woman’s, while Dorian’s were more callused and leathery from long years of staff training, and his left was stained with ink from writing. 

“What else is troubling you?” Ciúin asked as Dorian ghosted kisses over his knuckles with glassy eyes unfocused. 

“It scares me having you here,” he admitted eventually. “It’s not safe, amatus. It never has been, but now… Maker, if anyone finds out you’re here…” 

“I’ve had Sera spreading rumours that I’m in Kirkwall with Varric,” he said. “It might buy me some time…” 

“Still,” Dorian said. “I trust most of my household, but… I… I can’t be too careful, amatus. Not when it comes to you… There is a reason I insisted that we remain apart for so long, Ciúin,” he added, and flashes of their last conversation by the sending crystal seared across his memory. 

“You worry too much, Dorian,” Ciúin said, squeezing his fingers tightly around the mage’s. “I’ve fought Corypheus, red templars, Venatori, and half the qunari forces… and I did that last one with practically only one arm even then…” he said, raising his left arm a little but not enough to un-tuck the cuff from the belt. “I still have my magic, and I know how to look after myself. I’m a bit damaged, but not a defenceless babe, Dorian.” 

“I know,” he said, adding more emphatically, “I do know, amatus, but…” he broke off with a grimace. “It’s not just that. You saw how I was when I thought you’d ended things between us. If it’s known that you’re here, people – our enemies – could try to get to me by hurting you. I think I would just die if anything ever happened to you, especially if it were because of me.” 

Ciúin blinked at that, and then sighed. “Ma’vhen’an,” he said, “They couldn’t keep us apart before, and look how strong we were then – we’re stronger together.” 

Dorian pushed his chair back from his desk and tugged Ciúin into his lap. The elf fell across his knees with a chuckle and nuzzled his cheek into Dorian’s shoulders like a cat. 

“I still can’t believe you’re really here,” Dorian said in a low voice, burrowing his nose against Ciúin’s ear and whispering softly, his words tingling against Ciúin’s skin. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up in the Fade, and you’re some demon of temptation…” 

He knew that Ciúin would have remembered the awful moment when they had stumbled upon the tombstones of their companions in the Fade during the attack on Adamant. Upon them had been inscribed their greatest fears, and on Dorian’s had been ‘temptation’. Sickness and bile rose up his throat and he had to fight not to clutch at Ciúin’s back as he clung to him in the washing tide of emotions. 

“Ma’nehn,” he breathed, kissing the sharp junction of Dorian’s jaw bone and throat and drawing a sharp hiss of desire from the man. Dorian had always had a very sensitive neck, and Ciúin knew it. His eyes fluttered closed and Ciúin drank in the sight of his long, thick, dark lashes. He also saw the deepening of the lines that had been around his eyes before, and he saw the touches of grey in his long hair. Ciúin stroked the fingers of his right hand through Dorian’s thick, glossy black hair and raked his blunt nails over Dorian’s scalp. 

The magister let out a deep, throaty groan and tilted his head back, softening, letting the tension bleed from his body. “You always call me that,” he murmured after a while. 

“You are,” Ciúin said with a smile. “Ma’nehn, my joy.” 

“The things you say, amatus…” Dorian kept his eyes closed, afraid of the emotions he was showing, even now after so long together; well, apart, but still together. 

“I mean them, Dorian. Every word. I hate being apart from you, and I really cannot do it any longer. I’m sorry, I know it’s selfish to risk everything just to be here with you, but…” he glanced down at his stump in the ornate black and gold silk of the dressing gown, and went on, “I’ve been through too much not to know when I have a good thing in front of me. I’ve lost so much, Dorian, and I can’t bear the distance any more.” He choked softly and pressed his face against Dorian’s chest. “It’s killing me.” 

Dorian sighed and held him close. How long they stayed like that, neither of them could have said, and it was only at a knock at the door that they seemed to snap out of their private reverie. “One moment,” Dorian called. “Who is it?” 

“It’s Owain, my lord,” came an elderly man’s voice and Dorian flinched so hard as he tensed that Ciúin wobbled perilously close to falling out of his lap. 

“It’s fine,” Ciúin laughed quietly, though he did have the grace to lever himself up out of Dorian’s lap. “He’s already seen me. He let me in.” 

Something flickered across Dorian’s face, but it was gone in a heartbeat. “Very well, enter,” he snapped, and suddenly the man in front of Ciúin became ‘public’ Dorian again, with all his sharp, spiked defences back up. It gave Ciúin a jolt to see that after the sweet softness of mere seconds before. It was not only the Orlesians who wore masks after all. 

“Begging your pardon, my lord, I know you asked not to be disturbed in your work this morning, and I know you have only just been reunited…” His eyes flicked briefly to Ciúin, “But you have a visitor.” 

“A visitor?” 

“Yes, my lord. It… It is your mother.” 

The colour drained from Dorian’s face and he stared at the old servant blankly for a good few seconds. “My mother?” he finally croaked. “What in the name of all Creation does she want? I thought she was in Quarinus…?” 

“She was, my lord, but now she is here in your drawing room.” 

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian snarled, pressing finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. “Can I not have one good thing for more than five minutes before the universe comes along and shits all over it!” 

Ciúin laid his right hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “Courage, vhen’an. I’ll wait in your room, I think. No need to over-complicate things so soon.” 

“No.” Dorian stood up quickly and Ciúin was taken aback. “You know what? No.” He snatched up Ciúin’s hand and said, “You’re nothing to be hidden away from her; there’s nothing shameful about this. You’re coming with me.” He stopped abruptly when Ciúin began to laugh. “What?” 

“Might I at least put some proper clothes on before I meet your mother for the first time please?” 

Dorian’s cheeks actually coloured. “Well,” he spluttered. “Yes, I suppose that might be… amenable.” And suddenly he began to laugh as well. “Yes, as much as I’d like you parading yourself around the house like that, I don’t think she’d appreciate it. And much as I’ve always delighted in scandalising my parents, I don’t think seeing an elf in my dressing gown would create quite the right atmosphere for first introductions.” 

“I promise to wear my most Dalish outfit,” he said consolingly. “I’ll join you in a moment. You go down and at least get the party started for me, alright?” 

Dorian kissed him openly, and Owain withdrew, already forgotten and backing out with the quiet grace of a servant who’d seen it all before. “I love you, amatus,” Dorian said as he drew back. “Oh you’ve lightened my mood so much I don’t think my feet are even touching the ground.” 

“Good,” he said. “I’ll see you downstairs in a little while.” 

Dorian swallowed, clearly apprehensive, and nodded. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos mean the world to authors on here and if you enjoyed it, please take the time to let me know! And if you want more from these two - perhaps the story of how they grew closer during the game timeline, then let me know!  
You can also find me on Tumblr at @monstersandmaw but it's mostly non-fanfic fantasy writing and non-human romances with the odd Dragon Age post thrown in because I can't help myself and I can only be active on one blog at a time it seems.


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